Die Hard, Lestrade Style
by canisa
Summary: SUMMARY: Greg Lestrade headed to LA to fix his marriage. What he didn't expect was to be stuck in a heist situation. To make things worse, Mycroft Holmes was caught up in this impossible situation as well... Inspired by the movie Die Hard, where Greg Lestrade John McClane, with extra plot twists thrown into the mix. Cheers.
1. Chapter 1: The Flight

Chapter 1: The flight

"You don't like flying, do you?"

Greg Lestrade turned to his fellow passenger, an uneasy smile forced onto his handsome features. "No, no, where'd you get that idea?" The 48-year-old District Inspector was knackered, barely getting any sleep from the 12-hour flight between London and Los Angeles.

"You wanna know the secret of successful air travel?" The American businessman smiled back at Lestrade with white teeth, "After you get where you're going, you take off your shoes and socks. Then you walk around the rug barefoot and make fists with your toes."

"Fist with my toes?" He noted an edge of excitement in the businessman's tone.

"Maybe it's not a fist when its your toes.. I mean like this…" The businessman flexed his fingers to demonstrate. ".. but with your toes."

Lestrade drew his eyes to his fellow passenger's fingers, absentmindedly noting the visible tan line on the man's finger where a wedding ring was supposed to be. A recent divorcee? As soon as the thought started to form in his head, Lestrade immediately squashed it. He resisted the urge to rub his face with his hand. _Bloody hell_. Years of working with Sherlock Holmes were starting to rub onto him apparently.

"….work out that time zone tension you know? Better than a cup of coffee and a hot shower for the old jet lag. Trust me, I have been doing this for nine years."

Lestrade hummed. He peered out of the small window and was relieved to note that the plane has finally come to a stop, he loosened his iron grip on the seat arm.

"And you know…" The businessman suddenly freed his seat buckle and leaned into Lestrade's personal space, spreading his smile wider. "Even better yet, a nice massage would surely relax you…"

With a fluid motion, Lestrade unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up. His firm body stretched while he reached for the overhead luggage compartment, the handgun under his jacket peeking out as he knew it would.

The businessman reared back as if he caught fire.

"Don't worry, " Lestrade grinned but his stern eyes told a different story. "Just doubling as the Air Marshal for today to earn my seat, that's all." He extracted his duffle bag with one swift pull. "I am a cop. I have been doing this for 19 years."

The businessman stared at him with wide eyes.

Lestrade gave his last acknowledgement and turned. But before he could even take more than a few steps, he found himself colliding into a softness that suspiciously felt like.. "Oh.. I.." Lestrade fumbled, a hint of warmth creeped at the tip of his ears.

The polite apology was not even properly formed, when the young blonde-haired woman who bumped into him suddenly slipped him a piece of folded paper into his front pocket. Lestrade watched dumbfoundedly as she tossed him a smile with unspoken promises and left him as quickly as she had appeared.

Not even bothering to confirm what the paper said, Lestrade just shook his head, allowing himself to chuckle dryly. He should not have removed his wedding ring out of spite. Even in this disheveled state, apparently everyone, including men, all somehow fancied him. Lestrade ran his fingers through his silver hair. _No, they fancied his appearance._ He mentally corrected. Lestrade knew he aged well. Too well. Rather than crumpling, his handsome boyish face only matured into a more distinguished look. Years of his job at Scotland Yard had also kept him fit and trim. He was easy on the eyes, but none of these strangers had seen the commitment and devotion he had for the duties of his job. The passion to serve the greater good was his core and his essence. None of these people but his wife of 19 years had known of the extent he pledged himself to protecting people... And imagine that, his wife was quickly going to turn into an ex-wife… But could he blame her? Spending countless dinners by herself. Abandoning carefully created weekend plans at a text message from his team. Housing junkies and the homeless that he had brought home for the night because he couldn't just leave them be. Washing his bloody shirt not knowing whose blood it was from…. And at that train of thought, Lestrade sobered. Closing his eyes, he granted himself a second to drown in hurt and betrayal. Sherlock's stinging but true words ringing in his ears. _She had cheated… repeatedly… the PE teacher…_ Lestrade inhaled sharply before he resolutely squared his shoulder. His brown eyes opened and refocused as he walked surely, even if every step was meant to meet his final chapter with Holly.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes despised errands. But being the British government, he had very little choice. If the errands meant to further his greater goals, to garner those favors, then they are necessary evils for him to undertake. He closed his eyes, his fingers steepled under his angular chin. He repressed a curl from forming at his mouth. And this particular last minute errand had been one he was waiting for quite a while. Mycroft had already known exactly how he was going to utilize this favor.

"Mr. Holmes? We will be landing 15 minutes."

Mycroft opened his eyes in acknowledgment. "Anthea?"

The security detail nodded. "She has already swiped the hotel to prep for your arrival. Sir. The ambassador of Japan is en route and expected to be on time. Would you…"

"No need. Take me to the Nakatomi building first."

The security detail hesitated. "This was not on the schedule…"

Mycroft eyed his new security detail coldly. If it weren't for the minister of defense's last minute meeting, he would have arrived with Anthea hours ago. "Change my agenda and tell Anthea we will be 45 minutes behind for an errand."

The security detail swallowed and nodded before quickly scampered way.

Mycroft closed his eyes again. This time, he physically relaxed and sank into the posh seat of the private jet that came with his job. Mentally, he added another item for the new recruit onboard training in his mind palace.

Enveloped in the last rays of afternoon sunshine, the private jet finally slowed and prepared to descend into Los Angeles International Airport.


	2. Chapter 2: The Negotiation

Chapter 2: The Negotiation

When the elevator opened on the 30th floor of the newly built Nakatomi building, Greg Lestrade was immediately confronted by a loud blast of live music. Had Lestrade been 20 years younger, he might have been embarrassed by how dressed-down he was. The beautiful people in front of him wore flowing cocktail dresses and sharp suits that cost months of his salary. But Lestrade had enough experience crashing parties as a police officer that he paid no attention to the well-dressed party crowd. He confidently waded into the celebration, skirting near the edge of the party, trained eyes scanning through the crowd.

"Champagne, sir?"

Lestrade took the offered drink from the waiter. After barely tasted the champagne, however, Lestrade immediately inverted the glass and poured it down a pot of plant next to him. The sweetness appalled him. A beer would have been more agreeable for him at this moment.

Lestrade sighed. What the bloody hell was he doing here? How stupid was he to agree when she had begged him to come to LA so that they could have a friendly closure? What a joke. He should have listened to John. The "three continent Watson" would have known how to have a clean and friendly break. But no, he didn't listen to his mate. Nope. Not one bit. He had clung onto the history of 19 years of marriage and that small wishful thinking that perhaps this could be the beginning of a healing and not destruction. And guess what. Now he was in the territory of his cheating wife. Out of his element, thrown into a party that he hadn't been apprised of.

Anger flared, he cut through the crowd with heavy steps. Just as he was going to grab an unsuspecting victim nearby to ask for Holly's office, his eye caught her name plate on one of the office in the corner.

Bloody hell. She had gone back to _Holly Gennaro_. And they were not even divorced yet.

A fresh pit of fire erupted in his chest, Lestrade elbowed through the crowd even more roughly this time.

As soon as he reached the office, he threw open the office door with enough force that would have shaken the entire floor if not for the merry party that was happening around him.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes blinked and stared as the familiar Detective Inspector who cut through the crowd like a shark going after a prey. It was surreal. Gregory should have been in London, chasing after criminals with his brother. In fact, Mycroft had just seen him on the CCTV footage yesterday. Ah… of course. Mycroft mentally chided himself. Creased trouser. Overly tensed trapezius muscle. Being a seasoned air traveler himself, he should have immediately recognized the obvious signs indicating that the DI had just stepped off a plane. Eleven hours and 13 minutes flight between London and LA. He would have left Heathrow around noon and arrived… about 2 hours ago. How the DI's lips pressing into a thin line as if he had just eating a lemon indicates that he was angry. No. Make that tumultuously infuriated. DCI? Donovan? No. Something personal. Not Sherlock. Not his landlord. His wife then. Why L.A? She was a teacher. In chronological order, cheated with the gardener, the young neighbor 2 doors down, the new PE teacher, mortgage broker, VP of International Sales of Nakatomi Enterprise…

"Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft blinked and the gears in his mind palace came to a screeching halt. He blinked again and flawlessly schooled himself back to the proper role he had been enacting. "Yes, Mr. Takagi, I apologize for the momentarily lapse. I thought I had recognized the... music... and was trying to recall."

The Japanese businessman was visibly amused but politely followed the conversation. "I did not know you are versed in classical music. Mr. Holmes."

"I dabbled in piano. Mr. Takagi. They say music soothes one's soul." Mycroft returned an apologetic smile. "Even though I occupy but a minor position in the British government, there are times when I must make difficult decisions." Mycroft raised the corner of his mouth but with no smile in his eyes. "Difficult decisions that may impact many lives. As I am sure you could appreciate. And music is a way for me to soothe my soul."

Mr. Takagi smoothly took a sip of his mimosa champagne without a hint of surprise. "The world would have been as innocent as the cherry blossom if it were true. People like us are often put into that uncomfortable yet necessary situation. My obligation lies with my employer, Mr. Holmes. I do not offer allegiance to the British government as you do. There really was nothing that I could do. I apologize." The Japanese businessman dipped his head customarily. Whether the gesture was sincerely offered did not escape Mycroft's observation.

Mycroft smiled predatorily. Perhaps he, and not Lestrade, was the shark in this sea of people. "Surely you realize that there _are_ always options. Mr. Takagi." Mycroft gestured to his security detail. "March 24, 2011." Mycroft smoothly enunciated the date as he took over the offered briefcase from the young security detail. "I am sure your son would not be pleased to know the existence of this briefcase.

"You…" Mr. Takagi shook with anger. "Leave. My. Family. Alone." If he had gripped the champagne flutes any tighter, the flutes would have shattered.

"There are always options." Mycroft reminded the businessman. "And like you said. My obligation lies with the British government. Not your esteemed organization."

"What would you have me do?" Mr. Takagi snarled, all traces of politeness gone while baring his teeth. "I cannot retract my vote."

"Oh, you will be able to." Mycroft countered easily, smiling with all teeth. "Shall we say, an unfortunate event would arise in 2 days that will call for the forfeit of the previous voting result. A new one will be conducted and I sincerely _implore_ you, for the benefit of _your family_ , to make the right decision this time around."

"And how would you know if I place the _right_ vote."

Mycroft let the defiance bounce off him like autumn leaves in the wind. "I will know."

Mr. Takagi locked his cold gaze with hatred briefly before he turned his back and walked briskly away from the nightmare he had just experienced. The people around them went on merrily with apathy and ignorance.

Mycroft placed the half full champagne on the tall table. He then handed the briefcase back to the young security detail.

"Sir. Shall I call Andrew to prepare for our leave?"

Mycroft pressed his lips into thin line. He tapped lightly on his thigh. Twice. He made a decision. "Tell Andrew to get ready in 12 minutes. I have a small business to attend to."

The security detail nodded. "I will let Anthea know."

"Do that." As Mycroft started to stride toward the direction of Holly Gennaro's office, the elevator suddenly chimed behind him to announce the arrival of a new set of guests.

The elevator door opened.

* * *

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Lestrade gripped the doorframe, watching his wife of 19 years being pressed against the window glass by a tall man in a navy blue pinstripe suit.

"Greg!"

Lestrade crossed the room in 3 steps and pulled the man off his wife. "Get out. Get the fuck out of here."

When Lestrade was faced with the man, ready to smash in his nose, Lestrade was immediately disgusted by a hint of smeared white powder on the man's goatee.

"Wait, Greg! You misunderstood."

Lestrade watched in disbelief when his wife came to defend the junkie in front of him.

"He is Ellis! He is .. he is…" The woman fumbled, frantically looking for a neutral ground. "He is my boss. He is in charge of International Acquisitions…"

"That explains the recent deal with Bolivia." Lestrade dropped his fist. "Was it cocoa or cocaine that you have helped to broker the deal?" The DI recognized the man all right without his wife's lame introduction. Ellis. The fucking VP that prompted Holly to ask for a divorce, quit her teaching job and moved to US to work for him as his… his fucking secretary.

The temperature in the room dropped another 10 degree when Ellis reacted to Lestrade's Bolivia comment and nervously wiped his goatee with the back of his expensive sleeve.

"Relax. "Lestrade narrowed his eyes. "This is not my jurisdiction." What he would have done if it were his jurisdiction was left unsaid but clear and loud.

"Holly's policeman!" Ellis recovered quickly and flashed his confidence like a peacock.

"Her husband." The correction squeezed through Lestrade's clenching teeth, but was promptly ignored by the VP of International Sales of Nakatomi Enterprise.

"Look, pal. This is a celebration party. We closed a pretty big deal today and a lot of it was due to Holly. You have no idea how brilliant she is, do you?"

Lestrade tightened his fists, but keeping them firmly by his side.

"I thought you were arriving tomorrow." Holly offered weakly. What she really meant was that she didn't want Lestrade to witness this. She had sincerely hoped for a friendly closure. Tomorrow.

That 19 years of marriage really was no fucking joke. Lestrade closed his eyes, couldn't believe that he was still able to read his wife so plainly. To add salt to his gaping wound, he couldn't believe that he was so readily to accept her unspoken apology.

"Go on, Holly. Show Greg your watch."

"Ellis, I am not sure if this is the right time…."

"What, are you ashamed of your accomplishment? That Rolex is just a little token of our appreciation for all your hard work. You would have to rot in that London hell hole and still be an unappreciated teacher, unappreciated wife. Slave to this goddamn…."

"Stop it, Ellis! Stop it!"

Lestrade could hear his wife sobbing and felt so helpless to do anything about it. He refused to open his eyes, refused to participate in this ridiculous charade.

"Greg…"

Lestrade felt a gentle touch to his shoulder. Warm and cold. He willed himself not to lean into the familiar touch.

"Greg.. look, I am just, I am just going to give you some space okay?" The soft voice with a trace of hitched cadence was too painful for Greg to bear. "Let's talk tomorrow when things are much calmer than.. than this, all right? Ellis and I will go, and you can have this office.. and just… you know, take some time to calm down, all right? We will talk tomorrow and we… and I will text you the address to meet. Would that be all right? First thing in the morning. I promise. Greg.. Say something.. please say something, Greg…"

Lestrade didn't have to open his eyes to know that his knuckle is turning an unhealthy shade of white.

"Greg.. please… just say something…"

The uncomfortable silence blanketed the room, settled, and made its presence known loudly before Lestrade finally gave in. "Fine." Lestrade let the word out. "Go."

When the door finally clicked softly behind the pair, Lestrade dropped on the floor like a tossed marionette. For a moment, he felt numb as he gazed at the night-time cityscape outside of the window, displaying beautifully like there was no pain and ugliness in the world.

In a sudden fits of anger, Lestrade took off his shoes and hurled them toward the window.

The shoes hit the window glass. Hard. But instead of shattering the window to mar that beautiful city nightscape, the shoes dropped on the floor with a heavy thud.

Greg buried his face in his hands. The heartbroken man remained on the cold travertine floor for a good few minutes before he finally stood up. When he slowly made his way to retrieve his shoes, he then heard the unmistakable sounds erupted in the lobby.

 _Machine guns._


	3. Chapter 3: The Chaos

Chapter 3: The Chaos

Mycroft would never mistake the sound of Kalashnikov machine gun knocking against the metal of the elevator door. He had seen too much, been through too much, and had the scars to prove it. Without even looking back at the elevator to confirm, he dived forward.

The sickening sound of gunshots started. Screams erupted like an avalanche, blanketing the room with sheer terror.

Still staying low on the ground, Mycroft moved swiftly toward the left side of grand piano for cover. Years of habit had served him well. When he had first entered the lobby, Mycroft immediately scanned, calculated, and determined that the grand piano was the optimal tactical location for cover if anything should happen. The grand piano was located slightly off center to the lobby, backed by a ceiling high waterfall fountain. The piano's top board fortuitously raised in an angle and neatly covered line of sight from an assailant if one were to make a dash toward the green emergency exit sign.

Having established his tactical position, Mycroft then started to scan the panic crowd for Gregory. Mycroft quickly located Holly Gennaro as she frantically latched onto a tall man that was distinctively not Gregory Lestrade. Her lover then. Her boss. Arrogant prick. Gregory must still be trapped in the office. Despite their rocky marriage, Gregory would have been by his wife's side, protective and strong.

Good. Good. Office was good. He would have enough time to come up with something.

Mycroft then switched his focus to his young security detail. When he located the young man, lying supine with a hole in his forehead, Mycroft altered his assessment of the situation. Those had not been warning shots after all.

It would be too much risk to retrieve his gun when his dead security detail was on the other side of the room.

Another round of machine gun fired and the screaming and crying all mixed into cacophony.

The intruders, flanking the panic crowd from all sides, were now efficiently rounding them up like cattles to the center of lobby. Mycroft stayed put. His location would be considered as part of the circle. His tactical position was not breached yet.

But his good luck did not continue. Mycroft's heart sank as he watched the obviously trained professionals wasted no time to immediately split into 2 groups. One group continued to round the hostages into the center, while the other group started to methodically sweep through offices, yanking people hidden in the rooms.

They were just 4 doors before Gennaro's office.

Mycroft's brilliant mind came to a stutter. Multiple threads of thoughts tangled into a mess.

Workplace grudge…., no, no. Too professional. Robbery? Terrorism? Military uniforms. Weapons. ATTITUDE. Specific target? Him? Takagi? Fuck. 3 doors to Gennaro's office…. back, back, back.. Target. Takagi? Nicolson? Swatnamm? Middle east? No. European then. That's Hans Gruber standing at the… Political? Money? The vault has 640 Million of.. Hans was expounded from.. Sod that. Need to distract the gunmen so Gregory could have time. Gennaro's office was close to the emergency stairwell exit. A commotion would be sufficient for Gregory to make it. What could attract attention? 2 doors now. Too much screaming. Too many rounds of gunshots. Too many people running… Lights.. lights… blind them, startle them. Darkness.. switch.. too far. Fucking hell. What could…

A half-naked woman was suddenly pulled from the office 2 doors before Gennaro's office by a smirking gunman.

Mycroft didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he saw a familiar figure, stealthily dashing through the narrow hallway under the cover of cat-calling, whistles, screaming, and gunshots. A smile curled on Mycroft's face as he watched the silver haired policeman yanked open the fire-proof door and slipped into the safety of the dark stairwell.

* * *

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

Lestrade panted. In his haste, he barely had the sense to grab his gun and used the naked woman as a distraction to make it into the stairwell. He was keenly aware of the coldness of the concrete floor against his bare feet. And with no cell phone.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

But he could not stop. He would have to get Holly later. He had to find a safe place first to observe and assess. No way was he going to abandon her.

Jesus. That fucking Ellis better shut his mouth and lay low.

Lestrade sped up and run up the stairs. He cracked open the first door and was confronted with a half-finished partitions and office furniture in its original plastic wrappings.

Right. If he remembered correctly, Nakatomi Building was just recently built and not all floors were completed yet.

"32 construction, 33 computers..." He muttered as he took a peek into each floor and then quickly quietly closed the door.

As Lestrade started to open the door to the machine room on 36th floor, a loud noise gripped his attention.. He closed the door and moved up one flight.

The one good thing about being barefoot was that he was as silent as a cat in the still of night. Very quietly, he cracked the door and looked into the floor which evidently had access to the roof.

 _Fuck._ Lestrade counted 3 terrorists, all dressed in proper gear, speaking German. The wooden crates looked military grade.

 _Bloody hell._ He came to LA to deal with his marriage and now he has to fucking deal with professional terrorists.

Great. This was just great.

He had never imagine a day that could be more dangerous working with the daredevil named Sherlock.

Apparently today was the day.

Lestrade gingerly closed the door and slipped back to the 32nd floor of construction.

* * *

With Lestrade out of the way, Mycroft was able to refocus on the situation. The target of this operation would have to be either himself or Takagi. Hans Gruber had a fallout with his organization three months ago. If he desired to fund his own operation, 640 million dollars would be well worth the effort. If he wanted secrets, well, no one better than the personification of the British government would do the job.

"Ladies and gentleman, due to the Nakatomi Corporation's legacy of greed around the globe..." Hans began, stepping into the spotlight, "it is about to be taught a lesson on real power."

His security detail dead with bullet in his head. execution. Not a random shot…

"You.." Hans paused, a smile spread across his handsome face, as he scan through the hostages before him. "...will be witnesses."

Mycroft was lured into taking on this last minute "errand" and without his usual people...

"Now.. where is Takagi?"

Mycroft did not missed Hans' cold eyes lingered on him for just that fraction of second more before they settled on Mr. Takagi. "There you are. Come, come. Mr. Takagi. We would love to have a nice little chat."

Ah. Of course. Why not both the secret and the funding.

Still crouching on the ground like all other hostages, Mycroft slowly reached into his left sock. His fingers wrapped around a small pill against his left ankle.

Under no circumstances would he be put in a position of divulging secrets. He could withstand a lot of pain. But given enough time, even he could be broken. Mycroft personally knew 27 methods to accomplish that goal.

These people were professionals and they would have already been jamming any cellular signals. Anthea would just be start looking for him in the NEXT hour.

Eyes tracking every movement of the gunmen, Mycroft slowly and discreetly brought the pill to his mouth. The pill was cool against his lips. He hesitated. Closing his eyes, Mycroft paraded sentiments, regrets, and could haves through his mind palace.

 _John would take care of Sherlock…_

 _Gregory would have no idea of his..._

"Mr. Holmes. Would you like to join us for a little chat as well?"

Mycroft swallowed the pill and opened his eyes. He coughed and let his empty hands dropped to his side as naturally as possible. "Well. Mr. Gruber. I thought you never asked." Mycroft pushed himself up slowly. He would prefer to look Hans in the eyes at the same level. "The pleasure is all mine."

The gel capsule would take 1 hour to dissolve. After that, well… it would be a one-way ticket for a vacation that Mycroft deserved.

Mycroft mentally started the clock as he and Mr. Takagi were led to the elevator.

* * *

Think. THINK!

Lestrade stared out of the expensive window from the 32nd floor. Not too far from the Nakatomi Building, he could see another high rise. An apartment was lit and a beautiful woman leisurely walking around her living room with yoga gear. Even at the distance, Lestrade could tell she had nice curves. But the DI did not linger on that thought. Rather, he cursed that he was not a marksman like John.

John would have been able to shot through the window to alert the beautiful neighbor about this take-over situation.

Lestrade knocked his head against the window. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that the elevator was now moving. It stopped at 35th floor conference room.

Great. Just great. What are they up to now?

Lestrade went down a floor and quietly opened the door to the conference room where the elevator had stopped.

"This is too nice a suit to ruin, Mr. Takagi. I'm going to count to three. There will not be a four. Give me the code to the vault."

Robbery. Lestrade mentally registered and started to crawl toward the voices. It was behind the door of a conference room framed by artistically frosted glasses. He withdrew his handgun and crouched under an office desk. From where he was, he couldn't make out the people's faces, but judging from the shapes, he could see there were 6 people in the room, all seated around the conference table.

"I don't know it! Get on a goddamn jet to Tokyo and ask the chairman! I'm telling you! You're just going to have to kill me -"

The unexpected gunshot startled Lestrade. He reacted and bumped into the underside of the desk loudly.

 _Fuck._

For a brief moment, Lestrade had hoped that the people in the conference didn't hear it. But the hope faltered when he saw movement in the conference room.

Lestrade quickly retreated into an office and locked the door. He sucked in a breath and listened.

Door were opened and shut loudly nearby. Footsteps came closer. The doorknob to his office rattled.

Lestrade held up his handgun and aimed at the door.

The doorknob rattled again. Harder. Rougher.

Lestrade held a breath.

"Karl, there is nothing. Go and prep the roof. Tony, you stay here."

Lestrade relaxed. He rested his head against the wall.

"Theo. Can you break the code?"

"You didn't bring me along for my charming personality, did you?"

"Well. I do bring insurance. We are on a schedule after all. I am sure Mr. Holmes here is more than able to break the code as well."

In shock, Lestrade turned his head toward the door.

 _Holmes?_

"I regret to say that breaking a computer code would not be a talent of mine. My dear brother on the other hand, would have a better chance."

 _Mycroft?_

"Mr. Holmes. You are too humble. I am sure a man of your resources and talents would be more than useful."

Lestrade slowly moved toward the door. He quietly unlocked and cracked open the door.

"I am afraid you will have to do better than flattery."

 _Fuck. It is Mycroft Holmes. Why the bloody hell was he here? Never mind that… Think. Goddamn it. THINK! Can't have another person killed…_

"Well… Karl is gone but he did leave me a set of nice tools for me to convince you otherwise. Would you like to see it?"

Lestrade paced in the room wildly until his eye suddenly rested on the smoke detector in the ceiling. In a quick movement, he grabbed and dumped any paper he could get in his hands into the trash can. He frantically reached into his pocket and withdrew a lighter.

 _Thank god for smoking._

He wasted no time to light up the paper. Picking up the now burning trash can, Lestrade scrambled onto the desk. He held it to the smoke detector as close as possible. He watched the black smoke slowly rising.

 _Come on. Come on!_

"Those are really not up to par to my taste. Mr. Gruber."

 _Really, Holmes? Can you just shut your mouth for once? Come on sprinkler! Come on!_

"Hans. This is ridiculous. You know they want him alive. I can break the code. Just give me thirty….. Fuck! What the hell! My computer!"

Lestrade watched in fascination as the water spread out of the sprinkler. He had never seen anything so beautiful...

"Theo, take your precious computer down to the lobby. NOW! Tony, you watch Holmes here. Do not let anyone get close to him."

Lestrade heard the footsteps following the order. Radio static ensued shortly.

"Eddie? Call 911 and give them the name and badge number on your uniform and cancel…" The voice clipped at the same time as the elevator chimed.

Lestrade took a deep breath, counted his luck, and burst through the door.

Good. There was only one man left to guard Mycroft.

The silver-haired policeman pulled the trigger and shot in the direction of man that was not Holmes.

Tony screamed as he pressed his hand on his now injured arm. "Fucking hell! Where the…"

 _Fuck!_ For the 2nd time, Lestrade cursed that he was no John Watson.

"Gregory?"

"Take cover! Take cover!" Lestrade barked as he rolled to the side. Wedging between the desks, he fired again quickly, this time it hit the leg.

A machine gun fired aimlessly, as Tony screamed in agony.

"Mycroft! Take cover! Take cover!" Lestrade felt his heart sank as he watched Mycroft drop down.

 _Fuck. Fuck! I need to take him down. I need to take that fucker down now!_

Lestrade immediately crawled toward the madman who was now firing into anything around him. He stood up.

 _Don't hit me… don't hit me.. don't hit me yet…_

The luck was on Lestrade's side as the man was facing the other way. "You got one shot.. one shot.." Lestrade chanted as he stilled his arm. "one shot.. one shot." He took aim.

He pulled the trigger and watched the man named Tony went down.

The sprinkler stopped at the same time as Lestrade moved cautiously toward the downed gunman. A spread of crimson red blossomed under the stilled hostile.

Lestrade breathed. Hard.

Tony was the first man Lestrade had killed in 14 years.


	4. Chapter 4: The Affection

Chapter 4: The affection

::::: _"That sodding bastard. Did he do this to you? Oh, don't me give that. Christ. Acting like 5 year olds. What the hell is wrong with you lot. Here, take my umbrella. I don't have a cane but this would do for now. Let's get out of here..."_

 _"He was high. He didn't know."_

 _"There is a limit to… Sod that. You don't need to hear from me. Hell. You don't need to hear from anyone. Why are you walking so slow? …. oh… Christ. Let me see that….. There is no way you are going to be able to walk like that… Here. Sit and don't move."_

 _"Detective Inspector, as much as I appreciate your unfounded concerns, this but a mild incon…."_

 _"Christ. Mycroft. Do you always talk this much? Not everyone goes to posh school like you and Sherlock. Read my lips. Do. Not. Move. I just need to get this on you… ah... There. Now. You know where would Sherlock go?"_

 _"I know of 7 locations he could…"_

 _"Sit. I said, sit! Jesus Christ. Neither of you listen! Look… Look, just let me get my key. I will find him. You stay here, and just.. just look posh okay. That's what you are supposed to be. Looking all high and almighty without needing to lift a finger. "_

 _"Detective Inspector, if I could..."_

 _"Christ. I have a name. Use it. We have known each other like, what, for 2 years now? Okay, give me the locations now. This is what we commoner cops do. Go and look for junkies. Drag their sorry asses back to civilizations. You just be your posh self and just think of the bigger picture okay?"_

 _"Detective Inspector, I …"_

 _"Trust me. Mycroft. I will find him. You are in no condition to be running around in the city like that. Don't worry. I will sack him first, when I find him."_

 _"Detective…"_

 _"Trust me."::::_

* * *

The first thing Mycroft saw when he came to awareness, was the expressive brown eyes pinning him from above. There were the same eyes in his dream.

"Mycroft?"

The iceman blinked, taking in the full sight of Gregory Lestrade.

 _Blood on his cheek, front shirt, trouser. Splatter pattern consistent with close range gunshot. No lacerations. Not his blood._

 _Thank goodness. Not his blood._

Trying to sit up, Mycroft put weights on his elbow and winced when the sharp pain shot up. Mycroft looked to his left arm.

Inconsequential. A graze.

"Thank goodness.. you were out and I wasn't sure if you.. you know… You look really pale."

"Detective Inspector, how long was I out?"

"Since the shooting started? um… about 5 minutes maybe?"

Mycroft saw the proud grin spread across the silver-haired policeman.

"I took that bastard down pretty good. Not bad for an old guy like me. Though if I were John, probably could have gotten us out of here without your arm looking like that. We should leave soon. They are going to figure out that the fire alarm was triggered on this floor pretty quickly. I got ourselves a radio, a machine gun, and some explosives. We are going to give those bastards a great firework show soon."

Mycroft did a mental calculation. He had 18 minutes before he goes… downhill…

"Detective Inspector, I sincerely implore you that it is best if you leave me here."

"What?"

Mycroft felt warmth when Gregory immediately patted him down, looking for other wounds.

"Oh, you posh bastard, you are okay, just a nick on your arm, nothing serious. We just have to run up a few flights. I found a pretty good spot for us to hide. That fire alarm would have alerted the local police by now."

"No. I would insist again that you depart from here without my company. In 16 minutes, I would… it would not...look pleasant."

Mycroft saw the confusion marred that handsome face. But just seeing that made his peace. He had the choice to bite into the pill, breaking the gel capsule right there and receiving the immediate effect. But instead, he only swallowed, buying the precious hour.

Perhaps subconsciously, he had hoped to see Gregory one last time before he departed. And whatever high power had granted him that wish. In fact, this was the best case scenario. His own predicament could help Gregory out of this situation. "Leave the gun here. It will look like I killed him. They would not know your presence, so you could stay hidden."

"What the hell? I am not going to bloody leave you here. Wait…" The expressive brown eyes narrowed. "What the bloody hell did you do?"

Mycroft could see the gears in his mind turning. So instead of saying anything, he averted his eyes.

"What the hell! Do you have some sort of.. like.. suicidal pill? I have watched enough spies movies to… What.. How… How could you do… WHY? Okay… Okay… Where is the antidote? Don't you carry those?"

"No."

"Fucking hell. So you did swallow a suicidal pill! How can you be so stupid. Oh god, you would think you have enough sense after all we been through with your suicidal brother. Can't you think about what this would do to your family?!"

"Sherlock has John."

"And you have no one else? Fantastic. Just fantastic. You are an idiot, Mycroft. Anthea is going to strangle you to death, and I am just going to sit back and enjoy the show… Actually, you know what, sod that, I am going to join her. How could you do this to me? How! Use your fucking big brain and think of how to get out of this! You know everything!"

Mycroft watched in faint fascination as Gregory waved his arms wildly, screaming in frustration.. in consideration for… for him.

"I made my peace. Gregory." Mycroft's mask of indifference crumpled as he slipped the D.I.'s name.

"You have never called my name before. Christ, you are giving up aren't you?"

Lestrade crowded into Mycroft's space, his face inches from the dying man. "Don't you have regrets? You can't just do this! Think! What can we get that thing out of..."

Mycroft fisted Lestrade's bloodied shirt. Pulled him close, and crashed his lips onto him. He felt the man tensed briefly before he went lax. Sensing no real resistance, Mycroft gave in to his last indulgence and pushed his tongue through. He tentatively explored the warmth for a brief moment before he nibbled on the man's lower lip and reluctantly pulled away as quickly as he could.

This would be what he deserved. The bribing, the stalking, the spying, the threats, the murdering… all those that he had done to honorable and not so honorable people in the name of the greater good of the British government…

He could not take it all.. but at least he could part with this.

"Oh, that's a fantastic idea."

Mycroft arched his eyebrow, noting the shock he had observed in Gregory was slowly transforming into…. predatory smirk?

Interesting. Of all the reactions he had fanta-.. no.. no. Predicted. That had not been in any of them.

Before Mycroft could ponder deeper, Gregory moved.

In one swift motion, Mycroft felt his head was unceremoniously locked by Gregory's strong arm, and two fingers were suddenly thrusted into his mouth without grace. Mycroft barely had the mind to decode what was happening when the said two fingers hit the back of his throat with full force, triggering his pharyngeal reflex. His will trumped by biology, Mycroft felt his throat tightened, abdomen clinched, and then he lurched forward.

He vomited violently all over the floor once. And then the second time. And then the third time. The smell was so obnoxious that it made Mycroft's head spin.

"There."

Even in his hazed state, the once almighty personification of the British Government could hear the grin...

"Take that, you posh, suicidal, selfish, bastard. That should get that fucking pill out of your system."

… and ….and the fondness.


	5. Chapter 5: The Communication

Chapter 5: The Communication

"What do you mean they called off the police?" Anthea barked into her Bluetooth earpiece. She maneuvered her car, screeching her tires as she rounded the corner.

The sound of scrambling on the other side of the phone line was quickly replaced by a cool male's voice.

"... Apparently the security guard at the Nakatomi was able to provide credentials and called off the false alarm. The report said it was just a party going a bit overboard."

"Those idiots took his word over the phone?" Anthea asked the rhetorical question in disbelief. _Do they not follow protocols any more?_ "Did Devin or Andrew call in yet?"

"Still nothing."

Anthea sped through downtown, cutting off cars left and right. "What assets do we have within a 50 km radius?"

"Just us."

Anthea slammed her hand on the steering wheel. Hard. She had a bad feeling about this from the start when Mycroft had told her to get to LA first without him. That last-minute detour when Devin called in…. She should have known. Should have known and put a stop to it. And now Mycroft had gone dark, along with two men. It was looking more and more like a terrorist hijacking. The fire alarm was likely triggered by survivors. And those clowns… Those incompetent…. Oh God, she hope it was Mycroft who pulled the alarm. Knowing his sense of duty, he would have...

Anthea took a deep breath. "Chart the Concorde [1]. Round all available MI6. Make sure the pilot knows I want them here under three hours. Get Dr. Watson if he can be tracked down. Don't waste time. Three hours." Anthea furiously shifted into high gear. The car roared. Her mind spun, calculating and assessing. "Powell."

"Yes, I am still here."

She needed enforcement right now, and clowns would be better than nothing. They could provide the distraction she needed for her to go in herself. "Wake the mayor and call the Fed. I don't care what rank you pull, you get the police and FBI on the scene right now. And I want a drop on their comm. I want to know everything they know."

"Already on it."

She pressed the gas pedal and sped toward Nagatomi Building.

NOTE: [1] Concorde is a turbojet-powered supersonic passenger jet that was operating until 2003. It was used by British Airline. In 2003, it could go at maximum of 1,354 mph. Though at the time the range was only about 4,500 miles. For the purpose of this story, let's just say it could go 5,500 miles, which is roughly the distance between London and L.A. So by that calculation it would only take 4 hours to get from London to LA. Let's pretend that this supersonic jet is still in service (and further developed by the secret agency), given that this is now 2015. Technology improved.. and it could go faster and longer… Hence, the 3 hour ETA demanded by Anthea.

* * *

Lestrade stepped back and watched in full satisfaction as Mycroft bent over and puked all over the floor.

Damn right. That's what he deserved for making people worry. If it weren't for the situation they were in, he would have happily snapped a picture and posted on John's blog. Sherlock would be proud.

Sensing that the vomiting was done, Lestrade tossed the sorry-looking guy a box of tissues. He crossed his arms, smirk still hanging on his face as he watched Mycroft unbuttoning his suit.

When the poor man peeled himself out of the soiled jacket, Lestrade suddenly caught sight of his long pale neck, stretched, water droplet trailing down.

 _There are freckles on his skin, even on the back of his neck..._

Lestrade stared. Almost 8 years of working with Mycroft, he had never noticed that before.

 _Wonder if they spill over to his shoulders…_

Lestrade turned away abruptly, the feeling of Mycroft on his lips not forgotten.

Lestrade was not an idiot. In his youth, he was good looking, charming with a little touch of danger. Girls liked that. Blokes enjoyed hanging out with him. He was so used to others attention on him that he had learned to tune them out into the background. Hell, his first kiss was from his best friend when he was only 14 years old, who apparently had a crush on him for months and decided that action spoke louder than words. After that, the advances were more subtle and more sophisticated. And Lestrade had never really shied away from those interests until the day he was married.

So his situation with Mycroft was certainly unexpected. The kiss was… something. It wasn't mind blowing and certainly not the best one he ever had. But the memory of that pressure on his lips would not go away. Rather, it crawled in the back of his mind, unlocking and triggering something within him that was elusive yet familiar.

And it was confusing.

Mycroft had always been so detached and aloof that Lestrade just assumed the protective big brother continued the association with him only because of Sherlock.

How had he missed the signs?

For the most part, Lestrade enjoyed the company of Mycroft. Sure he was intimidating and hard to read, But the DI found that intriguing. Particularly since he had seen, under all that iceman persona, a caring man that worried constantly about his brother. Lestrade had always come home to Holly with tibits of Mycroft this, and Sherlock that. In fact, Lestrade recalled that Holly, on numerous instances, had even joked that….

Lestrade stopped abruptly at the thought of his wife.

Christ, what was he thinking. His wife was with 30 some hostages downstairs. Rescue would have to take priority. He would need to get Holly out of danger.. and then.. and then he could sort this thing out.

And where were the fucking police? He had triggered the fire alarm ages ago.

Lestrade walked briskly over to the window and peered down, frowning as he saw a string of police cars heading AWAY from the building. "Bloody hell…"

"It was not unexpected that the terrorists were able to call them off, Detective Inspector."

Lestrade turned and noticed that the iceman had already schooled himself back to that aloofness he knew so well. But at the same time, Lestrade also noted that Mycroft had gotten rid of his suit jacket, waistcoat, and the burgundy tie. A button was left open on the top of his white shirt. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Lestrade suddenly realized that this was the most dressed down he had ever witnessed, Mycroft showing more skin than the policeman had ever seen before. It felt oddly intimate.

Against his will, Lestrade's mind wondered briefly about the skin beneath that thin layer of silky fabric. The memory of those freckles occupied his imagination. The pressure of his lips on...

Lestrade inhaled. Deep.

 _This really was not good._

"What, back to my title again now? You took what you needed and decided to toss me like a piece of rag now that the moment was gone?" Lestrade never thought he would see Mycroft wince. it was endearing.

"Detective Inspector, it was not my intention to…"

"Oh, save it. I am not an idiot like you think I am, you know?" He smoothed his silver hair. He hand stayed at the nab of his neck, stabilizing himself. His eyes down casted, trying to hide the conflicts within. "Look. There are bad guys down there with a lot of scared people. Let's do our job first and then… And then we could talk about this? All right?"

Lestrade could sense the relief on Mycroft's posture.

"I cannot agree more, Detective Inspector."

"Are you agreeing to the 'me as an idiot' part or the ' killing the bad guy 'part?" Lestrade just couldn't hold his tongue.

But the reward was worth it. Lestrade laughed as he watched Mycroft blanched.

How refreshing. He could get used to this version of Mycroft.

* * *

Is this Gregory's idea of flirting?

Mycroft watched the handsome man laugh and was thrown into confusion.

He had learned the skills of seduction (part of the job from his field days), and this was not in any of his playbook. But he enjoyed watching him laugh, even if it was at the expense of his missteps.

Sighing visibly, Mycroft moved toward Gregory, avoiding the mess on the floor.

His first kiss in decades and he vomited all over the floor. He marveled at how at ease Gregory was and relieved at the same time that Gregory was not looking at him with disgust.

When Mycroft had forced the kiss on him, the sentimentalist in him (what's little left of it) had wanted to take what he could before he died, while the strategist in him had planned on the policeman walking out on him, thus keeping Gregory safe.

How things turned out so differently. How his Gregory always behaved in the utmost surprising ways.

Mycroft walked toward the window where Gregory was, fighting hard to keep the emotion from surfacing. He looked down to the street. Not surprisingly, the police cars and firetrucks were almost disappearing in the distance.

"Bloody hell. All that work wasted."

Mycroft considered. "Not entirely so, Detective Inspector. Anthea most probably intercepted the message."

Though, that was assuming she hadn't written him off yet, much like he was so eagerly to do so himself….

"It is imperative that we establish contact with Anthea." Mycroft added a bit too fast, now that his original plan was all but out of the window. To keep Gregory out of the harm's way, she was needed.

"Sorry Mycroft, I don't have a cell phone."

"It would not matter. The cellular signals would have already been jammed."

"What about this? I nicked this from the dead guy."

Mycroft smiles at the communicator. "We could certainly put that to use. Anthea would have already drop into the police emergency channel." Mycroft ran through his mind palace, looking for the relevant information. "That would be channel 530."

"Roof would probably have the best signal right?"

"Most astute reasoning."

* * *

Holly shivered as her now soaked evening gown clinged to her uncomfortably. The fire alarm had been triggered and a glimmer of hope erupted even when she was soaked in the rain of the sprinklers.

Her eyes nervously darted back and forth between the guards with the machine gun pointing at them. Holly was disappointed to see that none of the gunman exhibited panic.

The elevator chimed and Holly's eyes involuntarily drawn to the direction. The leader of the group.. Hans Gruber… had a look that could kill as he stepped out of the elevator. A geeky looking young man trailing behind him, clinching to a drenched computer.

"Eddie, did you call off the police? And find out where the fire alarm was triggered." Hans spoke into the communicator.

She held onto Ellis tightly. Haven't seen Greg in the midst of the hostages, she prayed that Greg had made to safety and alerted the authorities.

"Fuck… Fuck. My computer!"

"Shut up, Theo." The words from the leader was stern and clipped. "Figure out if your computer still works. If not, see if you can hack from the server room. 32nd floor."

"Right on it, Hans."

Holly watched the young man retreated back to the elevator quickly.

The sprinklers was shut off at the same time.

"They don't look happy. Something's gone wrong.."

Holly nodded to Ellis' whispering. Didn't dare to speak yet.

"The police are here?"

Holly shook her head… "Could be Greg…" She hoped.

"Greg?!" Ellis immediately covered his mouth, whispering softer this time. "Jesus, he could fuck this whole thing up…."

"He is just doing his job."

"His job is 6,000 miles away. When was the last time he even shot a gun?!"

Holly didn't know. They hadn't really talked for so long. She didn't know what cases he were working on. Who were his subordinates. What bothered him, and what made his days. The silence became so unbearable that she had sought warmth and comfort elsewhere for so long. Holly didn't know exactly when their marriage had evolved into this… this roommate arrangement. And then Ellis became a constant in her universe, providing the direction and the reassurance, that she was needed, that there was something she was good at. And then she moved oversea 6 months ago, losing herself in the excitement of work, and feeling like a woman again in Ellis's arms.

Holly's thoughts was cut short as she suddenly felt a shiver. She instinctively knew it was not because of her wet clothes. Raising her eyes, she was shocked to find Hans Gruber staring back at her.

The gaze was cold and calculating.

She sucked in a breath when she saw Hans took a deliberate step toward her. Hurriedly averting her eyes, she buried herself and tugged onto Ellis' sleeve. She felt him wrapped around her protectively.

Holly closed her eyes. Her body shook uncontrollably. Just as Holly was losing hope, a familiar voice suddenly came through from the radio communicator.

"Mayday! Mayday! Anyone! Terrorist have seized Nakatomi Building and are holding about 30 hostages!"

Holly opened her eyes wide. Greg's voice was echoing throughout the lobby through the communicator on open channel.

"I will say again… Terrorist have seized Nakatomi…."

To Holly's relief, Hans Gruber turned his attention away from her. "He must be on the roof. Marco, take 2 men with you. Go!" He barked out an order.

But the relief was only temporary. Holly's heart sank as she watched three terrorists rush up the stairs. Heavily armed.


End file.
